


Just Trying to Help, Mate

by sherrold



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1993-08-24
Updated: 1993-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrold/pseuds/sherrold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Originally written in 1993 for a for a 'under-1,000 word' contest at the first Virgule slash con, under the name Sandy K Herrold, and previously appeared in the con's program book. Beta'd by rache and others I've sadly forgotten.</p></blockquote>





	Just Trying to Help, Mate

Bodie watched in bemusement as Doyle sniffed and hunched his shoulders against the, to Bodie, non-existent cold. Doyle was totally missing the "I got laid last night" twinkle one might expect from someone who'd spent most of the last week on his back; in fact, he looked terrible. "Doyle, Cowley'll never wear it; he said not to come back till you're better."

"I feel fine! It's just this bloody stuffy nose of mine." Doyle did look a little better -- if you ignored the cracked lips and red nose. "I'm not letting you bloody heroes get all the credit."

Bodie heroically ignored Doyle's whining. "Didya take some pills?"

"A chemist shop full." Doyle sniffed self-consciously.

Bodie started entering into the spirit of the thing. "Well, drink some chicken broth; always works for me."

"The machine's out. I've had three cups of tea -- hasn't helped at all."

"They say garlic works..."

"Feel like I'm fighting off vampires."

Bodie smiled wide enough to show his teeth and gave a munching leer in Doyle's direction. "Working so far."

Doyle flung himself into the battered lounge chair. "He's got to let me go."

"I do have one more possible cure..." Bodie let his voice drop off suggestively.

Doyle's face redefined 'dubious.' "Oh sod off, Bodie. I'm not in the mood for it, all right?"

"No really, Doyle. This one always works."

Wearily, "What is it?"

Grabbing the extra couch pillow to hide behind, Bodie said, "Wank off."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Bodie, have you ever noticed that that's your cure for all that ails me?"

"What do you mean?"

Doyle stalked over to him, his air of menace lessened by his need to take a breath every couple of words. "When I can't get to sleep on stake-out, you say, 'Take yourself on a walk.' When my hands are shaking before a big shoot-out, you say, 'Remember a boy's best friend.' When I am complaining about my love life (not, I'd like to point out, my sex life) you say, 'Go ride your one-eyed wonder horse.'" Doyle broke into a snorting cackle. "And while we're here, can I point out what a ridiculous expression that is?"

"There's a million more where that came from," Bodie offered, but Doyle talked on.

"Now, I have, for god's sake, a bleedin' stuffy nose, and you say, of course, 'Wank.'"

Bodie felt very slightly abashed, but had to insist, "Really, it works."

Doyle took a few more faux-menacing steps towards Bodie and then stopped as a sneeze ripped through his body. "Oh fuck, I'll try it." He started towards the door, and turned back abruptly, "And quit smirking."

"I wasn't smirking," Bodie said, trying to look innocent. He continued sotto voce, "I was leering."

-=0=-

Doyle walked down to the washroom grumping nasally to himself, "the things I do for my job."

Taking himself well in hand, it wasn't long before his attention had totally wandered from the government-issue cubicle he was in, and concentrated itself on the sensations in his body. He was well aware that he gave into Bodie's suggestions because it gave him a charge to know that Bodie knew what he was doing. Once, when there had been no convenient place for him to go off to, Bodie had even done it with him. He remembered that still, their two cocks almost touching as they stood next to each other. He could easily imagine Bodie there next to him right now, their hands working in unison, speeding up, almost blurring as they came closer, closer...

"Uagggh!" He opened his eyes and shut his mouth both with a snap. He'd had more than one lover call him a screamer, but now was _not_ the place. The bathroom stall suddenly seemed too small and too warm. He quickly used a piece of toilet paper to wipe off his hand and winced as he tucked his still sensitive cock back into his jeans. "Bodie, the things I do for you," he muttered, then realized: "I can breathe. It worked!"

"It worked, it worked!" he jogged back down the hall, yelling to Bodie. And stopped short at the sight of Cowley standing just inside the door.

"What worked, Doyle?" Cowley gave him the once-over as he waited for Doyle's answer.

"Nothing, sir. Is it time for us to go?"

"Us, Doyle? I clearly said you would not be back to active status until you were stronger."

"But sir, listen, my cold is all better." Doyle triumphantly breathed deep first in and then out through his nose.

Cowley snorted. "Doyle, you look terrible. Your face is flushed, you're sweating, and I can tell from here that your heart rate is elevated. You look like you've just come from a hard workout, and all you've done is walked from the w.c." He ignored Doyle's face as it grew redder with every word spoken. "You're sick, and you're not going."

Waiting until Cowley was out of sight down the hall, Bodie looked over at his sputtering partner -- this man closer to him than any other -- tried, not very hard to resist, and finally said, "At least I didn't have you coming AND going..."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 1993 for a for a 'under-1,000 word' contest at the first Virgule slash con, under the name Sandy K Herrold, and previously appeared in the con's program book. Beta'd by rache and others I've sadly forgotten.


End file.
